by Karen Rose
“I got some good shots of her body, but not her face. I’ve printed that list of pharmacies we talked about. I’ll canvass them and the other businesses around the copy store in the morning, closer to the time she would have been there. Not many of the places would have been open then, so hopefully the ones that were saw something.”
“It would be a hell of a lot better if you could show them her face,” Clay said doubtfully.
“I’m planning on going back to the bus station tonight to look at more tapes. If I see her face I’ll have even more to show tomorrow. But first I’ll grab something to eat. I’m starving.”
Wight’s Landing, Monday, August 2, 7:50 P.M. Eastern (6:50 P.M. Central)
Lou sank into her chair, massaging her temples. Coroner John Kehoe gave her back a brusque pat.
“I always hated identifications,” he said. She supposed he’d done enough of them in his thirty-year career as a medical examiner. She’d done too many herself. One was too many.
“Me, too. John, why don’t you call it a day, go down to the pier?”
He stood, unsteadily. “I think I might. What about you?”
“I’ve got a little paperwork yet. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She’d put no more than a superficial dent in the stack when the phone rang. Dora appeared in the doorway. “Sheriff, Detective Janson from Morgantown is on line one.”
“Thanks.” Lou picked up the phone. “Janson, this is Moore. My body was officially ID’d as Paul McMillan by his parents.” Ironically, by a scar from the appendectomy that saved his life the year before. “The Vaughns don’t know what he was doing in their shed. They said they gave Rickman time off because their son went to Europe with his grandparents.”
“You believe them?”
“No. I know the grandparents are in Europe and I tried to contact them, but Vaughn claimed he didn’t know exactly where they were. I sent a request to the customs department to find out if the kid really did leave the country, but that’ll take a few days. Stan Vaughn and his wife know something, but their alibi is tight.”
Unfortunately, their alibi was so tight she’d been unable to convince the judge to give her a warrant. It still stuck in her craw. In Boston, the DA would have issued her a warrant in an hour. But this wasn’t Boston and apparently the judge had known Stan Vaughn’s father for years, and had as much trouble believing Stan was involved as John Kehoe had. One call from Stan had railroaded her attempt at a warrant before she’d even petitioned.
“They had room service delivered to their hotel the night McMillan was killed,” she told Janson. “They were both seen over the next two days by a number of the staff. It would have been hard for them to drive up to Morgantown and back. It’s twelve hours round-trip.”
“Well, that was my next question because I’ll be making the drive tomorrow morning.”
Lou straightened in her chair. “What do you have?”
“Rickman’s parents called. They got a call from the sheriff in Ocean City. My MapQuest tells me that’s about an hour from you. They have a seventeen-year-old punk in custody for armed robbery of a convenience store at about midnight on Wednesday.”
“Between our murders. He could have done McMillan, but not Rickman.”
“True, but it gets better. Punk has in his backpack a laptop power cord covered with Cheryl Rickman’s prints. The Ocean City sheriff called Rickman’s parents to ask about the power cord and the parents called me. I just got off the phone with the Ocean City sheriff. Punk’s clammed up tight. I’ll be down there by ten A.M. Want to meet me at the jail?”
Lou sat back, a satisfied smile curling her lips. “Thanks. I appreciate you including me.”
“We both want to catch whoever killed this young couple. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Lou hung up. “Hey, Dora, has Huxley gone home yet?”
“No, he’s out on patrol and I already called him. He’s on his way in to talk to you.”
Lou would have Huxley set up a watch on the Vaughns’ beach house. And while she waited, she’d do some checking on the man visiting the Vaughns. Everything about the man had screamed cop. She typed his name into the search screen. Clay Maynard.
That Maynard was in Wight’s Landing on vacation was an outright lie and it was obvious that he didn’t like Stan Vaughn one little bit. Lou couldn’t blame Maynard for that. Slimy sonofabitch had an answer for everything. She lifted her brows as Maynard’s results came through. Thirty-eight years old, D.C. resident. Former cop. No surprise. DCPD, eight years, decorated. Former Marine. Made sense. Currently ran his own business with an Ethan Buchanan. Security consulting.
Now, why would the Vaughns need a security consultant? It was a good question. No doubt Stan Vaughn would have a damn good answer. Trouble was, she wanted the truth.
Chicago, Monday, August 2, 7:10 P.M.
Ethan’s nose located the hot dog stand before his eyes did. A line of about twenty people waited for the best dogs in town. He searched the clusters of people, looking for the one he prayed was still waiting for him. Expelled a huge sigh of relief when he saw that she was. And stood, stock still, just looking. Drinking in the sight of her.
She stood in the middle of the crowd, but apart from it somehow. Watching the way everyone else had fun. She’d dressed up for him and the knowledge made his heart knock hard in his chest even as he felt frustrated that the simple black dress and the killer high heels would be wasted. The dress hit her legs midthigh, making them look even longer. Hugged her body in all the right places, making his hands itch to run over every inch, every curve. From fifty feet away he could feel the way the very air crackled around her. She simply took his breath away.
He spied a group of teenagers on skateboards. “You guys want to make ten bucks?”
They eyed one another warily. “What do we have to do?”
“Stand in this line and get me some hot dogs and fries and Cokes.”
One of the kids gave him a suspicious look. “Why don’t you just stand in line yourself?”
Ethan pointed to Dana. “See that lady over there? I’ve got about twenty minutes to have dinner with her, and I don’t want to spend it standing in a damn line. You get it?”
The boys followed his pointing finger and slow grins took over their faces. “Guess so,” said the first kid. He stuck out his hand. “Gimme the money first.”
Ethan pulled a few bills out of his pocket. “This’ll cover the dogs. You get paid when I get my dinner. Now pull your tongues back in your mouths and go.”
Dana felt him coming before she saw him. She’d thought herself prepared this time, but the slam of awareness once again stole her breath as she watched him approach with single-minded determination. Head and shoulders over most men in the crowd, his hair glinted golden in the rays of the evening sun. Broad-shouldered and lean-hipped, he stood out from those he passed, his suit and tie to their shorts and T-shirts. It was a different suit from the one he’d worn that morning. He’d slept, she thought. His eyes no longer held the shadows of exhaustion. Instead they were bright and arresting. And focused on me.
The words she’d practiced were pushed from her mind when he reached her and in one smooth movement took her face between his palms and took her lips with his, a simple kiss of welcome. The chatter of the crowd faded away, replaced by the thunder of blood in her head. Automatically her hands came up to grasp his wrists and she held on. He ended it with a chaste little nudge of his lips that said there was more to come.
He lifted his head and took a step back, his eyes taking a quick trip up and down her body. “You look incredible.” He smiled. “But I guess you knew that.”
She’d hoped so. Still she felt her cheeks heat. “Caroline insisted I clean up a little.” Dana thought of how Caroline had commandeered her closet an hour before. This dress was the only decent thing she owned. “She can be very persuasive.”
“Tell her I said thank you.” He glanced over his shoulder at the people lined up to buy hot dogs, th
en turned back to her with a frown. “I hate to tell you this, but I can’t stay long.”
Disappointment speared, but she lifted her chin and pasted on a smile. “I understand.” Visions of an evening of conversation followed by more of what had happened against her car that morning drained away. At least he’d had the decency to tell her himself.
He brought their joined hands to her lips and pressed gently. “No, you don’t. I got some more news from home. That family thing I told you about.”
Another time, with another person, she might have probed, but there was distress in his eyes and a hardness to his jaw that said the topic was off-limits, so she didn’t. “I’m glad you came, even if you can’t stay.”
“I needed to see you.”
It was simply said and touched her heart. “I thought about you all day,” she murmured. She lifted her fingers to his face, brushed her thumb under his eye where this morning there had been dark circles. “You got some sleep. Good.”
His eyes flashed then, a burst of heat she felt down to her toes. “I dreamed of you.”
The husky timbre of his voice had her swallowing hard and she suddenly found herself without any words to reply. She could only stare up at him, fascinated and charmed. And unspeakably aroused. If it was a line, it was a hell of a line for sure. But his eyes were clear and honest and sincere and she so wanted to believe it was true.
His lips curved. “So I finally caught you unaware.”
His smile made her heart thump crazily in her chest. “I suppose you did at that.”
He took her hands, kissed her palms. “Sorry I was late. I couldn’t find a parking place.”
“I should have warned you about that. I took the El.”
“I’m just glad you stayed.”
Again she searched for words. “It’s . . . it’s a nice night. I like to watch the people.”
“I know.” It was said with a teasing little grin that lit up his whole face, made him look years younger. Carefree.
“You were watching me,” she accused, flustered because she was . . . flustered. It was a new sensation for Dana Dupinsky and she decided she liked it. She was flirting and flustered and found she, too, felt much younger. Carefree even.
“Just for a minute. I couldn’t help it. I came around the corner and there you were, pretty as a picture.” He let go of one of her hands and toyed with the hair just above the bandage on her head, holding her captive with his searching eyes. “Is it healing?”
“I’m fine.” But she was so much better than fine. Her heart was pounding to beat all hell and every last nerve ending was on fire. “But I think I need to sit down.” Her knees were weak. “These shoes are killing me.”
His eyes flicked down her legs, lingered for a moment before coming back up to rest on her face. “I wish I could say you shouldn’t have worn them, but I’m damn glad you did.” He grinned then and she knew her face had pinked up. “You’re cute when you blush.”
Dana rolled her eyes, a little relieved that the moment was broken. She didn’t think her heart could have taken too much more of that intense green stare. “Let’s find a bench.”
They did, and sat facing each other, his arm casually draped across the back of the bench, his hand holding on to hers. And once again his eyes were focused. On me.
“Tell me about your business partner,” she said suddenly.
His eyes widened, surprised. “Why?”
“Because your work is important to you, so your business partner must be as well. “ She dropped her gaze to their joined hands, then forced herself to look at him. “And I’m trying to get to know you better.”
He was quiet for a moment, just looking at her, and she got the uncomfortable feeling he was trying to see inside her head. The discomfort intensified when she thought he just might be able to. “I did all the talking last night, telling you about Richard.” His head tilted. “You’re a good listener. Tell me about yourself, Dana, and let me be a good listener, too.”
She’d never found it easy to talk about herself, even with Caroline. But now, she found herself wishing she could. Wishing she could tell her worst secrets to a man who was little more than a stranger. And because she did so want to, she knew she should not. “That’s not very easy for me,” she murmured and he dipped his head closer to catch her words. For a moment he hung there, their faces just inches apart, and she thought he’d kiss her. She’d all but closed her eyes in anticipation when he spoke. So quietly. Gently.
“My partner’s name is Clay. I met him on my first deployment right out of the Naval Academy. Richard and I had put in to go together, and I was glad we did, because Clay made my life a living hell those first few weeks. I was glad Richard was there.”
He’d understood. Stunned she could only stare as he maintained the short distance between them and continued. “Clay gave us all nicknames. I was Goldilocks.”
Dana moistened her lips. “Hell on your tough-guy image.”
His gorgeous mouth curved. “You could say that. But Clay and I became friends. He quit the Corps after his tour in Somalia, became a cop. We kept in touch though and when I came home from Afghanistan, he came to the hospital. Made things a hell of a lot better those first weeks home. I hadn’t seen myself as leaving the Corps, ever. He helped me see that my life wasn’t over because I couldn’t be an active Marine anymore.”
“Thank you for telling me.” She bit her lower lip, conscious of his eyes on hers, too close and yet not close enough. “Next time I’ll tell you.”
He moved closer and she held her breath. “I’ll hold you to it.” Then his mouth was on hers, warm and mobile and once again the crowd faded away and there were just the two of them, kissing on a warm summer night. Like a normal couple. The hand that had rested on the back of the bench threaded through her hair, bringing her closer, harder against him, and when the tip of his tongue touched her lips, she opened for him. The hand that held hers squeezed hard, then let go, running up her arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His fingertips found her shoulder under the fabric of her dress. Caressed her there. Dana felt the hum deep in her throat, felt his fingers tighten in response.
Heard the impatient clearing of a throat above them. Smelled onions and fried potatoes. The throat cleared again. “Jeeze, man. Get a grip or get a room.”
Ethan jerked away and looked up with a scowl. Dana could hear the pounding of his breath in her ear and it was another moment before she had the presence of mind to turn her own eyes upward to where a teenager stood holding a shallow box filled with cans of soda, fries, and the best dogs in town, heaped high with everything.
“Now give me my ten bucks.”
Ethan leaned forward, wincing, and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “I ought to deduct for your mouth, kid. Here’s your ten. Now go.”
Dana had to chuckle as the kid walked away examining his ten-dollar bill. “You just can’t find good help anymore.” She took one of the hot dogs and settled back against the bench, happy when Ethan’s arm came around her shoulders. Happy. Content. Sitting on a bench eating a hot dog with a man’s arm around her. It happened every day to all kinds of people, she was certain. But it’s been such a long time since it’s happened to me. All too soon Ethan crumpled up the empty box.
“I hate to say this, but I have to be going. Can you meet me—” Ethan jumped, then reached behind his back where her little black purse had become wedged. “It buzzed.”
“My pager. I usually carry it in my pocket.” She checked the message and Ethan felt her whole body tense. She looked up with a frown. “I need to find a phone.”
Ethan squeezed her shoulder, but she was already standing up, tugging at the hem of her dress. “Dana, wait. Don’t you have a cell phone?”
She was scanning for a phone booth, her face tight. “Can’t afford one. Dammit.”
Ethan stood up, grasped her upper arm gently but firmly. “Use mine.”
She did, stepping a few feet away to dial, her face turned disc
reetly away. “It’s me,” he heard her say, then, “A cell phone that belongs to a friend. What’s wrong?” Her shoulders jerked with a swift indrawn breath. “Oh, no. Oh, God, no. Max.” Her voice shook and her hand flew up to cover her mouth. “The baby?”
Ethan walked up behind her, covered her shoulders with his hands, and tugged until she leaned into him. She was trembling so he smoothed his hands over her upper arms.
“I am calm,” she said into the phone. “Tell me where you are and I’m on my way.” When she’d finished she took a few deep breaths before handing him his phone over her shoulder. “I’m all right,” she said, but her voice was still shaky. She turned and managed a smile that came off looking haunted. “Thanks for holding me up.”
“Caroline?” he murmured and she nodded.
“I have to go to the hospital. She’s hurt.”
She was paler than when she’d hurt her head the morning before. “What happened?”
“She went grocery shopping when she left my apartment. She was pushing her cart to her car when some idiot came speeding through the parking lot and . . . hit her.”
“How bad is she?”
“They don’t know yet. Dammit, the asshole didn’t even stop.” She closed her eyes and he could see her fighting to concentrate. “I need to get to my apartment and get my car.”
“I’ll drive you,” he said, guiding her back to his car.
Chicago, Monday, August 2, 7:45 P.M.
She hadn’t said a word since he’d buckled her in the passenger side of his car, just staring out the window and biting her lips. Every few minutes she’d murmur something under her breath. A prayer he thought. He murmured one as well for the spunky little woman who’d all but forced Dana to have dinner with him the night before. He thought he owed Caroline Hunter a great deal. He took her hand, and her grip was shattering.
“I know you’re upset,” Ethan said quietly, “but if you’re this tense, you’ll only upset her.”
